Wallbreakers
by Sanskrit For Peace
Summary: Insanity comes with the uniform. Potato Girl's got a thing for the Captain, and he doesn't mind one bit. Levi and Sasha in drabbles, death matches and luurve scenes. As one exasperated officer once said: "The war don't matter one fig. Falling In Love seems to be the big business around here." So the Corps tags along for the ride.
1. Chapter 1

Title : Endgame

Rating: K+

Pairing: Levi/Sasha B. Or: SmallPotato! couple. Or, you know.

Disclaimer: Shingeki no Kyojin belongs solely to Hajime Isayama. All creative rights go to the other. Aide from that, I dream up brownies, not Titans.

**A/N: My smallpotato obsession is really growing on me. Looking closely, Levi and Sasha are two wholly different personalities, then there's the whole age question and the _height_ and the _eating_ and-_honestly_, any girl who can take out a Titan with only a bow and arrow is right up there with humanity's strongest. Besides, they'd keep perfect house.**

**She cooks. He cleans.**

**On second thought, that's going to fill a whole chapter.**

* * *

It starts, indefinitely, with the story of a man who has an obscenely impenetrable poker face and a girl who just can't quite contain herself around sustenance. That is to say, they don't know if it's a bad thing, criminal or wrong both morally and socially-

-but hey, its about them. Screw the boundaries.

Love is like that. The possibilities are endless, bounding before them in a fantastically proportioned mass of pulsing hue,like a swish of red silk fluttering across the night sky, twisting itself into a myriad of textures and shapes to lure, enchant, attract-

_need_.

Its incomprehensible. Its all-encompassing. Its damned fantastic, is what it is.

..

..

Maybe now Ackerman might stop making devil's eyes at him everytime he goes near Eren.

* * *

**A/N: I really would welcome any suggestions or prompts related to this couple or any other for that matter. It all goes into the soup! PM me ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Shingeki no Kyojin is solely owned by Hajime Isayama and I laud his creative prowess. I don't claim any form of ownership, being merely a fan.

* * *

Title : Strawberry berry

Rating: T for mild imagery

Paring: Levi/Sasha B. (SmallPotato!)

Summary: Lance Coporal Levi devours strawberries. Poor Sasha watches.

* * *

You ever get that funny feeling in your stomach? Like the coiling, writhing mass of suspense that wraps around your sternum and proceeds its slow,tension-ridden crawl down your spine- clamming you up from the depths of your soul right up to your poor head-

yes. _That__. __Kind_.

The feeling that just somehow tells you that SOMETHING BIG IS GOING TO HAPPEN?

* * *

He didn't get it.

* * *

Hange unknowingly serves as a catalyst by tossing him a box all wrapped up in pink crepe paper during lunch one day, sugary soft and terribly expensive by the look of it. It lands right by his bowl of stew and it stinks of luxury. Trademark Wall Sina, Levi acknowledges with one very, very sarcastic lift of the eyebrow.

It's bow-tied and simpering and he sure as hell doesn't need Hange's incessant cooing about how pretty it looks. Levi wants to lam it right back in her face, hand already twitching with preliminary action, when he picks up on the faint scent emanating from the present. He pauses mid-scoop.

"I had the liberty of meeting one of your _adoring_ admirers, oh distinguished and oh-so_ honourable_ Captain", Hanji simpers right in his ear.

"Leave it, freak," he says and resumes eating.

"Oh, but _Captain_, if only you'd seen her! She had lovely grey hair and a figure like a sack full of apples tied in the middle, so _elegant_, so _beayuuu_-"

He sets down his spoon, eye twitching.

Hange knows that twitch. It means Bad Things are Coming for You. Yes.

You.

She runs for_ hell_.

Levi finishes his meal, striving for complete freedom from expression. The box lies there-innocent in all its false sweetness, taunting him. He chews, he swallows.

Open. Open. _Open, _it whispers out to him.

He pauses just to spite the damned thing.

The lunch crowd bustles around him like flies-all their chatter and slurping and the goddamned food dropping on the floor- _it's like it has eyes, big googly beckoning-  
_

He shoves the last mouthful in his stew and slices clean through the wrapping, bowtie and all.

-Strawberries. A boxful of off-season strawberries, glistening little red jewels nestled plumply on their little round behinds,_ justwaitingtobetasted_-

And then somebody upsets a bench. The resounding crash brings him out of his reverie. Strawberries, in his opinion, are second only to cleaning. But with cleaning he can at least hide his face with cloth, whereas here-out in the open-

-he's so_ exposed. _

So this is Lance Corporal Levi; he can't stand other people watching as he takes enjoyment from eating the strawberries. Hell, he can't stand other people watching as he takes enjoyment out of _anything_.

So he waits. And waits. And waits...

...

...

...

Fuck it.

Humanity's strongest picks out a fruit by the tips of his fingers and takes a bite of personal heaven. Fresh, clean flavour erupts on his tongue, sending a sweet slide of juice down his throat. It leaves a hint of tangy aftertaste, the kind that drives his tongue to rub up against the sides of his teeth. Perfection. He finishes the fruit and relishes the taste.

A miracle.

He summons up years of discipline to avoid taking another one immediately, and because his eyes are closed with the effort to contain that moment of appreciation, he hears it.

A whimper.

_(And it's not him.)_

* * *

"_Hey guys?" Connie squeaks at one point during lunch. "Tell me I'm not the only one seeing this?"_

"_Eh?" Jean looks up from his plate. "What?"_

"_Are you not experiencing this miracle? Sasha's not stealing our food!"_

_The entire table pauses mid-action. "Well damn," Reiner wonders and as one entity they turn-_

"_Well damn," says Reiner again._

_She's not eating. Connie actually puts a hand in front of her mouth to feel for vapour. "She's breathing!" he exclaims._

"_Yeah, Connie, we can see that," says Armin wryly, seeing the agitated rise and fall of her chest._

_They watch as she hyperventilates, dazed and squirming in her seat. _

_"Uhh, does anyone have any leftover bread?"_

* * *

Levi's eyes snap open and-_darn if it isn't just typical_-sees the girl on permanent hungry mode-

-staring. At his mouth.

There is a desperate, almost pleading expression somewhere along the white edges of her nostrils. He snorts-but it is, _rather_, entertaining-

_-fascinating-_

_-distracting-_

-how her almond brown eyes are blown wide and open, her breathing just a teensy bit laboured-why, it's almost-_almost_-

Levi reaches inside the box and her eyes flit to his fingertips. Interesting. He moves back an inch; she follows the movement. He twists his hand in a bizarre imitation of a flexing exercise; she follows. He brings his index finger to his lips and flicks his tongue out to taste the remaining specks of juice; she positively _squirms_.

_Interesting._

He takes another strawberry, dangles it tantalisingly before both their eyes- and then in glorious slow motion, he lowers it into his mouth and bites down hard, spattering the insides of his mouth with juice as he in turn keeps his eyes on her face. He watches the by-play of emotions; the anxious misery, the anticipation, the widening of her mouth as she sucks in a sharp breath-

-but truly, it's the explosive darkening of her eyes, conscious light of intelligent brown slipping into a hazy, sultry shade of deep amber (_tangled sheets, long drawn out sighs_) that occurs the instant the fruit enters his mouth, as its uneven surface pushes pass his lips.

Watching her sends sparks of pure sensation straight to his groin. And it's damned inconvenient. As an afterthought, it's also laughable. She's a child.

_No child looks at a man like that, _his mind argues,_ like they're aching for him, wanting and needing-_

Levi has never liked the look of hunger on a person's face. It reminds him too much of overgrown maggots swallowing down humanity just because the filthy fucks feel like it. It reminds him of the countless refugees roaming the streets, of inadequacy and empty promises. Of loss and dishonour-

-but Sasha Blouse is something else entirely. Because when Sasha Blouse looks at the strawberry making its jolly way to consumption, she doesn't look _hungry_-

Her face is a thunderflash of desire, thrumming with attraction so base it's downright _unholy_. Sasha Blouse, surrounded by her teammates and assorted comrades, Sasha Blouse in a room full of people, Sasha Blouse sitting across from her commanding officer, looks like she'd like nothing better than to tackle him to the ground-

-and suck the strawberry_ right out of him_.

It's shocking. It's criminal. It's demented-

-but he's sort of hoping she'd do it anyway.

* * *

(_She whimpers just a little bit more.)_

_Right._

* * *

_It takes the squad some panicking and three breadsticks before they manage to snap Potato Girl out of her funk. She spends the rest of her lunch period deflecting questions by stuffing her face with baked starch._

_She leaves a lot of crumbs._

* * *

On his next trip to Wall Sina, he gets Hanji to point out the overaged admirer who sent the strawberries (and hell, she is _ugly_)-but he deigns to curl his lips up in her general direction.

* * *

Two weeks later, the Scouting Legion's Chief Of Supply dumps a fruit crate in front of Sasha's door.

There's a note-

and it says-

* * *

"Guy's! She's dropped cold! Sasha! Sasha, can you hear me?!"

* * *

_Your turn._


End file.
